Bob Dylan taught me how to play the guitar. Eric Clapton helped me expand on my
very basic knowledge of chord structure.
Guns N’ Roses inspired me to buy an amplifier. Metallica taught me to turn it up loud. “Smells Like Teen Spirit” changed my
life, and “Longview” made me want to be in a band.
I know what some of you might be thinking. The artists that I mentioned might not
be indie or punk rock enough for you.
I cared about this perception in 1992. Now? I love
music. And the guys that whined
“sell out” are the guys listening to the same Fat Wreck and Nitro bands that
they were listening to when they were kids. Their record taste has evolved much like their maturity.
You know who I am talking about. The thirty-somethings in the pit at the Face to Face show
who can only name the songs from “Don’t Turn Away.” The guys who spend the entire night on the floor, raising
middle fingers to those of us who found seats in the balcony above the band. The same guys who will be ejected from
the show because they chose to swallow a flask of cheap vodka in sixty seconds
and then belligerently break unsuspecting necks while East Coast slamming in a
non-existent pit.
I digress.
My past musical ignorance was necessary. My close record store buddies might say
that my taste hasn’t evolved drastically.
I would argue that it has.
These days, I can actually laugh about it and we can poke a little fun
at each other. I can tell Chuck
that the latest Killing Joke record is a sleeper and he, in turn, can tell me
that Recover (Ceci N’Est Pas) didn’t do anything new with their last
attempt. The point is that I am
not offended by shots at my musical taste anymore. And maybe that is my problem.
Remember when you’d hear a song and it would blow you
away? Those artists, from that
point on, weren’t capable of producing garbage. Right? Songs
had such an impact on my life that I can remember where I was when I was
listening to them. I had a walkman
when I was younger and I would wear out every cassette single with its torturous inner mechanisms.
I must have listened to “Appetite For Destruction” and “Nevermind” over a thousand times. Those records (amongst many others) never got old for me, but the cassettes sure as hell took a beating.
Music captivated me in the same way that love did. I couldn't think about anything else and I couldn't wait until the next (insert artist here) record came out. There was oxygen, and then there was music.
As I grew older, I have found that I have become a
picky music consumer. I have to
laugh at myself at times. I find
myself thinking that bands in my day did it way better than they do now. Only to remember that the old timers
from back then said the exact same thing!
So what is going on? Have
bands been getting progressively worse or has my musical taste taken refuge at
the retirement home? Look at the
charts. You tell me.
I have found myself a little saddened as I compare
my current musical participation to that of my younger years. I am not the kid in the pit or up
against the guard rail at the show anymore. Instead, I am soaking in every moment from a tactical
vantage point with my wife. Hell,
by the time the headliner takes the stage, I’m ready for bed. When I am at the merch booth, I’m not
looking for a shirt or a hoodie.
Instead, I am seeking out that ultra rare tour-only 7” that will
eventually become a collectors item.
While others are hunting down the band members, my wife and I are making
a quick exit in hopes of beating the rush or traffic that will ensue.
I guess my point is this. My music consumption has changed much like my taste in
alcohol. When I was young, it was
all about gutter punk, King Cobra, and sleepless nights. These days, I opt for fine imports or a
glass of merlot, “Clarity,” and resolve the night surrounded by
those who I love the most.
These are my thoughts as I grow older. I will always love music. I have merely learned that this love
evolves with every year God adds to my life.
Thanks,
Steven
